


song in the silence (time catches up)

by emiliaslibrary



Series: carmina ad vitam inspirat [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alivebur, Based on a song, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Phil is a Bad Dad, Protective Wilbur Soot, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, but he's trying man, not the irl people, only the after effects tho, please dont yell at me if theyre a little ooc, teeny tiny bit - Freeform, written about the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29005533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliaslibrary/pseuds/emiliaslibrary
Summary: “We used to be giants, Tommy. When did we stop?”The trauma shared between the two of them could fill the gaping crater that used to be the very country he built—his unfinished symphony. At least, it used to be.Wilbur had realized something after emerging from death . . . his brother’s protection was his true unfinished symphony. Tommy was a child. He still is a child. And for once, that kid needs a reliable relationship. A stable brotherhood is what Wilbur fought for now.And he would fight tooth and nail for it.Or,an excuse for me to write protectivebrother!wilbur while he yells at his father figure.(loosely inspired by "giants" by dermot kennedy)
Relationships: Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: carmina ad vitam inspirat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122848
Comments: 9
Kudos: 560





	song in the silence (time catches up)

**Author's Note:**

> this work is (very, very loosely) based on the song giants by dermot kennedy! enjoy :)
> 
> (like honestly, it's basically only the title)
> 
> **TW: very! brief mention of suicide

“We used to be giants, Tommy. When did we stop?”

The grass crunched lightly beneath Tommy’s feet as he strolled over to where Wilbur was sitting, legs dangling over the edge of a cliff. His arms were placed behind him as they bore his relaxed weight. A breeze floated gently by, causing the two boys’ hair to fluff up against their will.

Tommy dropped down beside his brother, heels resting against the cliff face. The fading sunlight caught the planes of his face, radiating a sweet warmth that tasted like honey in this moment. He let the tension drain from the fibers of his being as that light washed over him—feeling safe with his older brother near. It was peaceful.

He could almost forget that his brother had been dead for months before this.

The resurrection had finally worked. Ghostbur realized that he didn’t want to prohibit the return of his former, physical self—he wanted to help Tommy. So, as his final gift, he gave himself up, allowing Wilbur to return with all pieces intact.

Well . . . most of them.

Wilbur’s memory from his time as an incorporeal being was patchy at best, but the only missing parts were the happy parts that Ghostbur retained. Any memory too harsh for Ghostbur was one that he would immediately repress—and that memory would find Wilbur in the afterlife. There was no explanation that the brothers could find for this madness.

But it allowed Tommy some reprieve. There was somebody out there—somebody who knew his trauma without needing to be told of it. He didn’t have to apologize for the outburst and incident’s that happened because of what that green bastard did to him . . . not that that was the limit to his dalliance with the trauma gods. Wilbur, himself, had caused seemingly irreparable hurt to the young child, but they were working through it.

Will’s escapade through the afterlife had realigned reality for the man. The madness had subsided, especially when he realized that he had an outlet to express his anger onto—this hellish server. His disappointment in his father and his other brother had reached unimaginable heights. Not only that, but he couldn’t stop blaming himself. Wilbur was the one that begged his own father to put a sword in his gut—to make the killing blow. So, sure. Maybe Philza abandoned Tommy in his time of need—truly inexcusable—but Wilbur had done it first.

He blamed it on the madness.

Fucking hell.

The trauma shared between the two of them could fill the gaping crater that used to be the very country he built—his unfinished symphony. At least, it used to be.

Wilbur had realized something after emerging from death . . . his brother’s protection was his true unfinished symphony. Tommy was a child. He _still_ is a child. And for once, that kid needs a reliable relationship. A stable brotherhood is what Wilbur fought for now.

And he would fight tooth and nail for it.

“We used to be giants . . . When did we stop?” Wilbur murmured, his hand tugging gently on the grass beneath him. Tommy’s eyes tracked the movement, but he did not answer. This quietness—something Will had never associated with Tommy. The aggression was still there, buried deep within the teen. It would rear its head in Tommy’s chest occasionally, but not nearly as often as it used to. Abrasive, loud, opinionated . . . all words that used to go hand-in-hand with TommyInnit. Wilbur wouldn’t count on them now.

Because that spark inside the teen was dying, and his brother was fighting desperately to keep the ember glowing. He remembered when he first realized something was wrong.

* * *

The pain registered first. A sensory feeling stinging through his brain, flowing down his nerves from his head to his toes as everything restarted. The hurt began to congest in his chest—a dull ache pulling in the center of his ribs.

It was then that Wilbur realized he needed to breathe.

A gasping breath—frigid air racing down his throat, filling his lungs with a thin coat of ice, before exiting out his mouth in billowing steam. The following intakes of air were fast, bordering hyperventilating, but Will concentrated on the warm hands he could feel on his shoulders.

There was cold all around. He could feel it with his newly returning sense of touch, but those two concentrated areas of heat were like beacons in the darkness. There was an insistent urge to go towards them—it was so strong that he actually moved to sit up, before the hands applied pressure and forced him back down.

“Woah! Woah, big man. Take it easy!”

A slow groan left his lips. Eyelids fluttering, fighting to open even with the sun’s heavy rays blanketing his face. It took an excruciating amount of effort—but Will finally pried open his eyes.

He saw the red and white shirt first, followed by the mop of blonde hair that surely should have been tamed by now—and finally, baby blue eyes, squinted with deep concern. It was his brother’s hands resting on his shoulders . . . the brother he had traumatized and abandoned.

“TommyInnit,” he breathed. Will scanned the teen from head to toe, checking for any sign of harm. He found no obvious injuries. “Is that you?”

The boy beamed at his older brother. The effect did wonders for the heavy gaze that came from the boy’s wounded soul—wounded soul? Wilbur jerked, mind racing with the memories that seemed to be tearing his mind apart. The discs, exile, white mask, a friend, snow . . . blue? Tommy—Tommy was in pain?

It was going too fast. He couldn’t process that emotion that was flooding his system, couldn’t sort through the memories that looked like they were happening in a foreign language. He screwed his eyes shut, bringing the heels of his palms up to rub at them. Wilbur didn’t realize that he was mumbling until he felt a firm grasp around his wrists.

Tommy pulled Will’s hands away before slowly helping him raise into a sitting position. That happiness that had lined every inch of Tommy’s face for a moment was wiped, replacing by rising worry . . . again. Chest aching with the sudden rush of fondness, he reached out to place his hand against Tommy's cheek. Tommy—thankfully, as the boy wasn't one for much physical affection—didn't seem uncomfortable, even going as far as shutting his eyes and leaning into the touch, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

_I knew from the start_ , he thought, _you_ _'d be the one to set me free_.

For a moment, everything felt so close to being whole again. But Wilbur and peace were like oil and water, and times like this were made to be interrupted.

A new, though familiar, voice spoke, “Will?”

Like speaking to a spooked animal, his dad’s tone was softer than he’d ever heard before.

It did nothing to prevent the rage that lined Wilbur’s bones when he realized who had called his name.

His head snapped to the right, hand dropping, locking gazes with the man he knew to be his father—the very same man that plunged a sword through Wilbur’s heart. Admittedly, at his own request.

That request had been tinged by insanity—and sane Wilbur managed to feel a little bitter over the following through with it. Sue him.

Phil’s apprehension was palpable. It was likely that the Wilbur’s eagerness to rip into him had already been perceived . . . confirmed by the way Tommy stepped into Wilbur’s eye line, placing himself between the two feuding men. Not that his dad knew of the rift that had torn right through the center of their relationship. Wilbur had every intention of filling him in with that knowledge.

“Phil!” He cried, swinging his legs over the end of the alter—alter? They did this on an actual fucking alter? Typical.

Distraction aside, Will let out a small grunt at having to bear his own weight, slamming a hand down on the ledge of the damn alter. Tommy jumped to his side, throwing one of his brother’s arms over his shoulder. His other arm wrapped around Wilbur’s waist, taking the brunt of the man’s weight, even at the expense of Tommy’s own knees. They managed to keep upright. How humiliating would it have been to collapse before he could have even went on his tangent?

Inhaling sharply, Will continued, “Good ‘ole Dadza! How have you been, old man?”

“Erm, it’s been tough around here, honestly, Will,” Phil started, eyes darting warily. His black feathered wings ruffled, an indication of his nervousness.

Isn’t that already an admittance of guilt? Why would a father need to be scared of his son—when even his own brother was happy to see him alive?

“Oh, sure. I’m sure it was really hard for you when you aided the man who made your child suicidal.”

Absolute silence.

Tommy’s arm went slack around his side before tightening again, almost painfully this time. When Wilbur cast a glance at his brother’s face, there was no expression to be found. His eyes portrayed his evidential shock, though. It wasn’t the way Tommy wanted to tell anyone—hell, he doubted Tommy planned on releasing that information ever.

Spoiler: after he calms down from his rage-induced diatribe, he would realize that this was a very wrong thing to say. Tommy would accept his apology; however, for now, all Will is focused on his making his father understand.

Phil spluttered, grasping blindly for any argument against the statement Wilbur had deadpanned. He could find none. What utter tripe was Wilbur spewing? Tommy wasn’t suicidal!

“I’m sure it took so much effort from you when you decided to pick and choose favorite sons. Forget my failure, but Tommy?” he continued, “The little boy who has idolized his family since the very day he joined it? Who is so _stupidly_ loyal for anyone he considers a friend?”

At this point, Wilbur was attempting to hobble toward Phil. Tommy was hopeless in his attempt to keep his brother stationary—the bigger man kept trudging toward their father figure. Passion had encapsulated Will, making him completely blind to anyone outside of his target.

“You truly think that this young boy needed to be manipulated to the degree that he was? That you could trust Dream— _Dream!_ to actually do his duty?” Wilbur demanded, shoving his free hand into Phil’s shoulder. Their dad stumbled back, wings flaring in an effort to balance himself.

Standing upright again, Phil took a minuscule step away, “I thought he had everything he needed! Dream was supposed to watch him!”

“You’re an idiot,” Will hissed, “if you thought, even for a second, that Dream had any type of moral compass that could understand what an impressionable teenager would need! Tommy is sixteen _—a fucking_ _child_ —who's been through multiple wars, and you thought it was okay to leave him in the hands of that fucking sociopath?”

“Ohhhh-kay, man,” Tommy said, beginning to tug his brother in another direction, “let’s walk away.”

But Wilbur wasn’t done. He tore his arm out of Tommy’s grip, stalking even closer to Phil. They were nose to nose at this point. Close enough that Phil could see every line of his son’s face that was stoked with anger. Will opened his mouth, preparing to explain exactly how their dad had failed his youngest child, when another face entered his view—this one framed by pink hair, a crown resting on their head.

Technoblade, the missing piece to their little quartet.

“Oh-ho-ho! How nice of you to join us, Tech!” Wilbur’s voice was coated with snark. Phil took his chance to put some distance between them, using the distraction to his advantage.

Techno’s expression was completely blank as he looked at his brothers—Tommy was standing slightly behind Will, not meeting anyone’s gaze as he shifted from foot to foot. Wilbur was glaring at Technoblade, daring him to speak up.

Who was Techno to back down from a dare?

“Wilbur, it’s good to have you back.” The monotone of his voice allowed no inflection to be detected, whether he truly believed the words he had said was up to the interpretation of the listener. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and settled his weight back onto his heels.

Tommy had locked on to Technoblade—his gaze unwavering. Wilbur noticed how his hands trembled lightly, watched him flare his fingers before forming a tight fist. He couldn’t decipher Tommy’s feelings towards their other brother. He knew they had always argued a little more than the rest of them, but Techno had always held a secret, special fondness for the youngest.

Wilbur thought that Techno saw a reflection of himself in Tommy.

“It’s good to be back, brother!” Will’s smile—should it even be called that?—was not kind. His lip had pulled back, revealing bared teeth. Techno grimaced.

“You know,” he continued, “I really thought you had it together, Techno. You and Tommy—you made a good duo! He was content in your presence, yeah? But then, you decided that he had betrayed you—”

“Uh, Will, I kinda did.” Tommy said. The other three men glanced at him, and Wilbur frowned.

“That doesn’t excuse what he did, Tommy!” he plowed on, turning back to Technoblade, “And you couldn’t allow that. You couldn’t admit that what he did actually hurt you. So, you allowed your bitterness to push you to help the person that hurt Tommy most—Dream. Did you know about the abuse, Techno?”

Technoblade was visibly uncomfortable. His hands were fisted in his pockets—body tensed in a way that imitated a man before battle. Eyes downcast, he looked utterly miserable.

_Good_ , Wilbur thought.

“ _Shit_ , Wilbur, please,” Tommy pleaded, yanking on his sleeve, “just stop.”

He could feel the desperation with each tug of his shirt. Tommy’s brows were furrowed, lips forming a thin line. His eyes were scanning Wilbur’s face, darting in an effort to take in any portrayed emotion.

And as he looked to his younger brother in turn, he realized that this was not his battle. Tommy would have to fight his own demons—would have to confront his own emotions.

Not that that made Wilbur any less inclined to do it for the boy himself.

With a sharp exhale, he shot the two men a parting glare before speaking directly to Tommy, “Alright, Toms. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I don’t think we were ever giants, big man,” Tommy laughed, “just two guys with gigantic egos.”

Wilbur snorted, allowing his hand to rest on the soft green beneath them.

“Not that the ego is undeserved!” continued the boy, gesturing wildly, “I am the best at everything, and it should be known.”

He let out a barking laugh, always a bit shocked at whatever came out of Tommy’s mouth.

“What?” Tommy demanded, “What, dickhead? You disagree? You’re just—”

Raising an arm, Will cut him off. He reached over and dragged Tommy closer to him, bringing him in for a side hug. He threaded a hand through the younger boy’s hair, finding comfort in the gentle motion. Tommy, successfully quietened, sagged against him.

There was no doubt in his mind that the trouble had not ended yet. He could feel it lingering like rain on the horizon, dark clouds hovering and preventing stress from ever completely leaving his mind. 

The reminder of family was like a cold rag on the back of his neck during a heat wave—a blissful reprieve from the emotions they would face after leaving this hillside and returning to reality. They would have to go soon.

But for now, in this moment, two brothers found comfort in each other, and decided to fight those battles another day.

**Author's Note:**

> hi loves!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! :)
> 
> let me know if i should continue the series! i love feedback, so if you want to leave a comment, please do! i encourage it! either way, thank you for reading & have an amazing day!
> 
> edit: does anybody know why ao3 is telling me that i have two related works but whenever i try to click on that section, its just blank?? help D:


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